Blue Monday's Daring Blog

It began to sink in that a phone call carried too much risk. My inability to speak into a telephone was seriously jeopardising my chances of making the required impression. This called for extreme measures. Stalking.

What if we met by complete accident during the course of a normal day? A pre-planned coincidence. It was a masterful plan. The local phone directory was very helpful in providing the address I needed and I went to work. The trouble was that her bungalow was not blessed with camouflage. No bushes, no undergrowth, nowhere for a spy to loiter with invisibility. In fact the whole operation had to be conducted at the end of the road from behind a red post box. My alibi was flimsy and the postman was suspicious. I relied on fate. But fate had other ideas.

The trouble with puppy love is that it runs away with all reason. When it’s the very first time that you’ve been pierced by Cupid’s arrow it sprints. To say my judgment was clouded was like saying that the world’s being affected by global warming. It’s only a smidgen of the truth.

I was besotted. It interfered with my appetite, my sleep, my emotional incontinence. Even my dating schedule in the lavatory was thrown into turmoil. I had new material to process. She kissed me. Correction she snogged me. Lips, tongues and a full-on erection. Vis a vis she likes me. Clearly finds me rather attractive. Correction she fancies me. In fact she probably loves me. Clearly full-on snogging with absolutely no chat lines, or in fact any conversation whatsoever, can only me ... [more]

While I was more than happy accumulating a catalogue of chromatic lovers real life was surprisingly about to deliver a formative and life-altering experience. At first it seemed like exactly what I needed. Little did I know how it was going to affect my emotional development. What seemed so right became so wrong.

I must have had some respite from my acne. Temporarily. Little did I know that what was about to happen would stimulate my endorphins to deliver another five years of dysfunctional disfigurement and enforced solitude. My late teenage hormones were raging and fate was about to deliver some respite from dating busty blondes in the upstairs lavatory.

I was a tennis player. Not strictly true I hit tennis balls over a net (sometimes). To improve my skillset and enhance my burgeonin ... [more]